


“I didn’t think it could get worse, but it got worse.”

by iloverenqueenston



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gen, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-02-03
Packaged: 2019-03-01 05:01:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13287534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iloverenqueenston/pseuds/iloverenqueenston
Summary: yuri’s the president now, but where’s monika? yeah idk either buddy





	1. h  e  l  p

**Author's Note:**

> i know this is horribly short but it was lagging my notes so i had to get it out of there. also yes im not dead,sorry to anyone who wants me to be, sorry to anyone who doesn’t, because my stories are horrible why are you reading them

 

 

“I don’t miss her. No one misses her. No one can miss her. Do you miss her? Do you miss her? Do you miss her? Do you m̸i̴s̷s̶ ̸h̴e̸r̶? ̴D̷o̴ ̴y̵o̵u̴ ̸m̸i̴s̷s̶ ̸h̴e̸r̶?̴ D̵̬̽ó̸̯͙̐̇ ̴͔̋̎̎y̴͍̠̒͜ȍ̷̝̥̟ṷ̸̋ ̷̧̆̀͠m̵̘͑͆͝ȋ̶̪͈̓͝s̴͚̙͚̑̂͋ș̷̠̹͗̃ ̴̛̼͎̳̚h̸̘̅͝e̵̙̦̣̿̔̇ŗ̷͙̋̒̒?̸̩̮̬̐̍͋ Ḍ̵̙̹̺̭͕̯̩̭͇̬͚͙̥̪̘̮̳͋̓͊̌̽͑̈͑̿̑̐̂̽̚̚̕͜ǫ̴̛͚̯͚̪̗̺̬͓̱͔̳͎̰̼̣͑ ̸̧̲̣̘̯̪͇͔͈͕͕̈͗̈́̿͆̐̓̂͊̂̀̍͒̓͛̾̕͘͜͠ý̶̧̢̫̪͎̜͉̘̮͔͙̮̩̗̳̻̘̙̘͖͇͐̈̀͆́̑̈́̈́̓̋̽̽͂͑͂̿̕ö̷̧̢̡̯̘̱̰̪͔̹̤̗̣̜̭͉̖̭̞́̌̌̾̀͋̂͗̿͜͠ͅǔ̴͈̗̗̫̼͉͚̗̼̰̥̦̯̪̗̞̰̤̇̓̋̑͒͊̉͐͆͗͊͜͝͝ ̸̧̡̨̥̮̗̹̼̫͖͎̆̇̓̈́͂̍̑ṁ̴̡̧̻̖̞̝̺̪͕̻̤̣̞͖̟̥̬͆̍̊͆̄͋͊̚̕͘͜͠i̵͉̲̲͚̥̿̿̎͋̔̄̃̿̅̇ͅs̷̨̡͖͇͓͇̫͚̯͚̘͚̳͖̣͇̍̅͊́̅͜͠͝ͅş̴̧̡̛͇̠̖͎̫̫͉̝͈̦̩̤̬̯̟͎̼̫͗͌̈́̈́͐̔͑͑͒́͘͘̕͠ ̸̯͋̐ḩ̴̛̛̤͋͆͋̿͑̿͒̈̊̔̉̍̈̇̊̓̾̌̈͘͝e̸͍̫̲̬̯̠͈̙̞͆͊̾̐̅̈́r̷̬̜̤̳̬͙̯͔̥̲̮̼̲͍̻̺̙̾̇́͑͒̊̔́̀̅̃̀͐̈͘?̸͚͈͒͗̽̂́̍̉̂̉̿̽̄̄̋͆ D̸̡̢̡̨̨̛̩̣͎̩̰̫̻͎̫͕̯̟̜̟̞̺̤̹̝̱̙͈̜̗̣̥̖̟̮̦̭͕̱̯̗̫͖͚͍͉̞͚̬͈͛͑̒̏̉̓̂̀͒͐̍̐̊͑̑͛̀̆̈́̎̽̋͒̈̍̈́̇̊͗̒̓̈́͗́͌́̈́̿̀̍̃͗̓̿͆͛̂̈̅͐͗̆̐́͋͆̀̉̀̔͆̃͋̆͋̌̅͗͌̀̓̆͌͋̌͛̿͐͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͝ͅơ̴̡̛̙̼̻̦̘͚͕͚̽̔́͐̀̉̐͐̐̔̆̀̄͛̆̓̍̌̏̈́̃̋̍̾͋̑͋̒̐̓̆̈̑͛̇͋̇͊̓̔̈͗͂̈́̽̂̏͑̒̄̏̈͆̾̌̅̋͊̐̓̐͊̃̽̚͘̚̕͘͘͘͜͝͝͝͠͝ ̴̧̢̨̧̨̡̧̧̧̡̛̞̼̝̣̦̩̺̺̹̟̪̜̪͈̗͉̫̰͇͕̻̳͕̬̝͎̙͎̼̺̳̜̝̳͙̗̦̠̜̰̞̮̤͕̤͖̭̼̙̻̜͈̪͓͙͇͈̹͎͓̭̜̖̩̦̞̲̘̪͙̫̦̬̳͓̼̩̩͇̠̜̣̪̠͙̿́̈́͐̆̓̈̂͊̂̇́̈́̈̽͌̈́̐̏̓͌͗̀̃̓͑̀̈̃̏̔̔̀̽̽̕̕͘̚̚͘̕̕͜͜͝ỳ̸̧̢̡̨̧̨̨̨̢̪̹̥̲̠̯͈̮̳̘̣̯̳̣̰̰̺̙͉͎͎̳͙̞̣̻̹̟̭̟̫̲̤͈̠͎͉̥̬͔̰͖͎̜̞̝͇͓͉͉̬̝͍̘̗̱̘̥͙̺̒́͛̍͒̇̔͛͂͂̌̊̆͘̚͘̚̚͘͜͠ͅͅo̶̢̨̡̨̧̢̢̢̨̧̢̨̡̡͇͚͚̩̜̝̫͓̮͔̺̻͍̙̩͉̗͓̫̹̘̫̤̘̯͎̟̬̜͉͚̘̘̩̲̤̱̣͇̫̣̩͖̠̞͈̰͕͍͚̫̤̺̫͕̩͔͎͓͚͔̤̺̹̳̹͈͖̞̜̰̜͚̠̫̪̩̠̪͍̭̩̽͊̈͗̌̆͊͂͂̑̍̇̇͗͋͗̆̒́̋̊̌̏̿̔̒̀͊̔̀̔̔̔̂͐̓͒͆̃͋̈́̀̽̀̍͒́̄̾̀̃̑̄̆̾̄͋͒͋̋̈̔̆̾͊̅̚̕̕͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅǔ̷̢̨̨̨̡̨̢̢͙̼͙̟̜̖͓̹̟̦̬͎̜̝̰̹̝͎̩͕̖͖͛͂̅̊͌͋̀͌̐́̓̿́͂͌͒̆̈́̈́̇̍͒̎̇͑̓̐̓̈̐́̂͑̄̀̔́̀̒͆̄̆̔̈́͒̋̌̈́̈́̂̑̓̊̎͑̚̕̕͠͠͠͝͝ͅ ̶̛̛͈͈͐̓͑̽̋͂̃̎̈̈́̾͒̒̒̈́̃̏̏͊͗̾̓͂͂͗͌̓͗́̆̂͂̍̑͌̈́̂́̀̄͋̀̒͛̐̋̇̐̀͑̅͋̃̑̈͋̂̅͆͌͐̅̿͑̇̀͑̒͛̅̉̒̑̍̿̓̃͌͌̏̚̚͘̚͘͠͠m̶̡̧̧̢̢̧̨̡̡̢̛͓͚͓͕͚̳̩͚̦̙͉̫̳̥͍͈̩͕̭̩͕̹̞͇̹̦̗͕͖̙̫̮̣͍̱͈̙͍͓̘̹̫͉̖̥̖̱̘̫̰̰̲̦̥̝̟̪͚͓̫̹̠͖̟̰̗̞̪̲̰͕̤̼̱̍̓̆̇̔͒̀͆͌͆́͐̿̾͊͑͑͂͛͛͋͑͒̈̌̋̓̋̊͛͌͆̓̈́̇́͌̓̈́͌̀̽̀̒̄̈́̿̌̉̎̋͋̒̊̃̐͋̒̍͒̍̈͒̆̏́̋̑̕̕̕͘͘͜͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅi̴̧̨̢̢̡̢̨̨̛̛̛̛̛̫̤̩̱̗̠̺͈̻̻̲͔̣̺̪͉͎͕̤̦̬̗̟̪̲̜͈͖̳̲̘͇̣̯̳̣͖͇͖͕̟̖͊͒̃̐̓͋̓̏́̔̌̿̆͐̆͆̒̅̋́͆͐̄͛̈́̊͊͑͗̄͆̃̽̌̇̋͐̾̇̊̂̄̔̒͆̀͑̅̋̌̂͛̇͋̆̾͂̏̾̓̇̋̀̀̐̋̚̚͘̚͝͝͝ͅs̸̢̢̨̧̢̨̛̛͖̠̰̹̝͙̻͉̝̙̲̺̣͕̼̤̗̖̞̟͓̙̥͖̱̯̘̪͍̬̤͈̹̩̭̲͇̪͓̥̭̯̭̺̰̼͔̘̟̪̲̗̝͔̗̭͉̦͉̣̳͚͍̳̰̯͚̞̞̜͎̩̹̪̝͔͕̾̔͛̑̈́̓͂̉͑͋̌͐̈́͗̀̀̏̓̎͛͆͒̏͐͑̂̔̑͊̇́̔͐̏͋̑̋͛̾̐̆͌̿̎̈̈́͊͐̎̋̽͆͂̍̓̃̆̍̑̃̽͒̾̇̋̔̚̚̕̕̕̚͘͘̕͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅs̸̡̨̢̢̨̨̞̫̤̖̙͉̭̳̥͍̩̱̬̥̭̮̪̹̰͓͙̱̰̥̮̜̤̱͖͎̰͓̲͇͇̯̭͎̜̫̤̮̥̳̪̗̪̮͙͚̻̜͎̜̭̣̭̪͆̏͛̉̈̅̋͋̓̑͂͋͗̾͐̊̓̌́͌̆̋̉̆̌̋̐̇̇̏̐͋͊̂̿̍͗̓̆̿̃͑͛̉̔̈͂͂̂̄̌̐͌̾̅͛͊̆̒̑͋̒̄̓́̕̕̕̕̕͜͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅ ̴̨̨̢̨̧̨̡̧̛͙̺͎͉̜̭̩̲͇̙̲̘͖̜̩̙͓̠͔̦͉̟͕̻͓̘̙͈̺͓̳̱̱̣̺̭̳̰͎̱̺̦̯͈͓͍͙͇̩̯͉̣̼͙̯̘̥͛͊̋̅̈́͗̽͛͗̓̊̿͂̀͋̐͗̚̕̕̕͜͜͜͝͝ḧ̶̢͎̳͉̦͙͔̝̳̻͈̯͚́́́̀̈́̈͌̌͛͘͜ͅȩ̸̡̢̧̢̛̛̳̪̞͈̙̠̭̺̲̜̫̭̺͚̠̮̻̠͕̲̮̜̜̪̦̳͓̦͉̬̮̠̹͔̺̼̰̼̭͉̞̦̹͇͚̱̮̳̹̬͔̘̰͎̫͍̖̪̰̪̳̀̑̎̋̀̐̉̎̒̀͌͑́̈́̈́̓͐̑̐̀̿͆́̽̏͊͋̓͊̑͑̀̉̏̐̅̅̾͐̇̏̊̌̒̒̒͌̏̾͒̚̚̚̕̕͜͠͝͠͠͠͝r̴̢̢̢̡̧͕̥̯̭͕̤̺̗̦̻͈͇̺̦̫̝̞̩̻͍̞͍̺͔̩͔͇̰͎̞͕͍̣̈̐̄̋̓̉͛̐̒̓͌͊́̿͂̀͘̚̕͠ͅͅ?̸̨̡̡̧͖̩͕̖̫̗̖̦̝͕̟̟͈̼͚̦̼̺̱̙̰̩̳͉̫̺͈̟̫̖͎̪̗̩̙̪͔̭̬̯̳̤̻̩̻̝̤̥̖͚̖̗͍̞̞̥͍̫̱̦̟̱͍̥͙̘̙̤͇̇̓͜ D̸̨̡̢̡̧̡̡̧̧̨̡̧̧̢̧̢̢̡̧̨̡̧̡̨̡̨̢̨̡̛̛̛̛̛̹͇͉͙̻̱̞̝̝̟̝͕̘͓͍̫͙̻̤̳̪̻̝̲̲̥̘̪̳̘̱̺̭̜̲̼͇̖̰̮͖̲̯̯̹̤̠̥͙̣͇͍̪͍̼̺̱̬̙̱̘͇̖̻̞̣͕̖̗͈̖̩͙̼̥̪͓͍̮͓͎̬͈̰̠̘̻͓̯̣̥̘̥̻̞̥̺̬͓̱̞̼̲̩͇̥̼̦̪̱̱̘̻̝̯̙̱̺̮̼͚̝̪̺̰͉̞̣̜̤̳̣͕͎͓̞͚̱̙͎̳̼̼̬̱̩̠̦͕̩̠̣̗̑̂͋͐̋̈́̎̓̏́̃̇̍̒̍͛͊̉̋͐͗̿̌͌̔̌͌́̽̓̌̈̆͒͂̎͂͛̃̓̊̇̆͋̋͌̔͒͂̍̾̆̉̆̍̄̐̂͌̈͒̎͛̐̎͐̂́̅͗͂͂͊̊̾̿̇͂͆̐͋͒͋̇̀͆̒͐̍͛̍̋̇͗͒̾͗͛̍̌͑̇͑̄̓̌̀͌̒̏̾͂͐̐̅͐͌͊̃͆̅̿̽̒̽̽̐͗͒͆̆̽̕̚̕̚̚̕͘̕̕̚̕̕̚̕̚̕̕̚͘͘͘̕͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅơ̴̛̛̛̛̛̛̺̦̠̋̄̓̒̐̊͐́̎́̔͒̀͑͛̃̈́̈́̓̽̀̈̉̌͛̾̑͗̈́̅͋̀͊́̽͛̽̎̄̒̿̀̇̓̇̉͊͛̊̔̌͑͂̃͗͐̇͌͛̃̇̊͛͊͐̒͆̐̓͐͊̎̒͊̐͂͛̉̽̄̈̂̈̄͋̆̆̋̔͐̍̉̆͐̎̎̄̃̃̀̇̀̇̔͊̆͌̄͐̉̏̍͆̂͂͐̒͋̇͂̿̑̾̉̾̽̈̐̊͂̋̀̀̔̍̄̀̕͘̚̚͘̕̕̕͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝ 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̶̢̧̨̡̛̛̰̫̥̥̙̺̳͎̦͇̦͍̰͕̫̗̯̥̩͉̪̺̖͈̞͉̮̥͉̳̗͇̩̪͖̼̞̫̞͕͉̰̙̰̣͚͖̘̗̭̪͇̬̌͗̇̓̄̑͌̓̀͗̉̽̇̎̉͑̒̄̒̂̍͆̔͌̿̓̎̐̏̒̽̔̆͑͆̽͐̓̓̎̋̂̏̎̎̈́͐̐͑͋̀̏̒̃̀́̎̎̄̕̚͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅm̴̢̨̡̢̨̢̨̨̢̡̧̡̢̡̡̧̢̡̡̧̧̨̨̢̢̡̢̧̡̧̛̛̛̛̦͔̭̜̦̣̠͍̘͕̦͈̘̪̞̰̘̗̠̻̳͔̺͎̦͍̰̰̮͚̤͎̪̼̥͇͇̲̻̻̳͖̙̳̳̝̭͈͇̞̩͓͙̹͍͖̞̘̙̹̼̫̞̫͖͉̻̣̪̮̫̼̜̝͍̻͎̰̺̤̦͔̰̙͔̰͉̼͖̠͕͈̰̞̝̫̼̝̠̫̼̥̲̳͚̤͇̻̰̥̭͉͎̬̱̥̠͈̘̙̬̞̤̗̖̪͍̼͉̪̙̳̻͙̼̖̝̥͙͖̳̠̖̯͉̟̣̭̯͓̭̤̙̳̮̦̥̞̳͔̟̯͚̩̝̤̘̘̤̥̙̟̠̠̟̻̟̩̪͓̣̗̼̺̖̖̺̹͇̪̩̦͚͔̖̦̱͓͔͖̻͖̹̮͍̫͉̹̣̫͖̦̘̜̯͉͔̜̤̝̳̰͚͍͈̟͙̬̬̬͈̣͕̝͙̓͌̉̈́͆̀̊́̄̽̈̅̿̀̋͐͆̈́̾́̍̎̒̐͆͗̅͑̀̒͑͗̊̈́̓̋̑̃̄̀͂͛̽̍̀̎͛͒͗͗̀̃̑̀̐̊͌̀̄̑̾͆͋̏͂͋̏̉̋̊̆́̐̎̒͋̾̾͊̊͋̊̔͛̌̓͑͊͗̍̔̄̋̽͑̿̉̋͋̐̅̃͊͌̔̌̌̎̑̽͒͛͌̇̓̍͒̂̑̈̓̄́̀̒̑̀̾̐̂̅́̒͑̌̄̆̆͊̎̌̈͑̃̀͊̽͒͛̓̏͐̃̾͐͌̀̌͑͐̋͛͛̄͊̅́̃̋̒̉͋͗̉̄̀͋͑͆̌̈͋̀̍̑̔̈͗̑͐̆̊̅͌̂̄̓́͑͛͆̏͗̽̍͗͆͛̑͋͋̅̂̄̐̇̉͒̂̑͆̉͘̕̚̕̕̕̚͘̕̚̕̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅĩ̸̧̨̡̧̢̧̢̧̨̢̡̨̨̡̢̧̨̛̛̛̩̘̙̳̝̻̖͔͉̰̮͎̖̭̤̞̺̟̪̩̼̟͕̱͚̞͖̝̼̭͍͔̭͈̰͕̝̜̰̞̜̥̖̮͚͔͚̠͈̝̙̙̲͓͍͇̲͚͚͇͔͉̝̤͈̣͎͓̙̣̱̝̙̠̱̥͉̠̭͍̦̺̞̹̰̱̜͓̜͙̺̖̘̪̹͍͓̳͍̖͙̳̜̘͈͔̪͚͈̺̩̞̭̱̲̤̞̦̞̣͙̠̦͉͎̭͖͈̤̙̝̼̬̮̳̼̝̱̖̺̫̤̪̱̝͉̩̯̫͍̱̦̲̮̰̘̻̟͍̖̥̦̥̪̗̜͍̭̫̞͖̺̜̲̱͓̪̬̙͓̝̦͓͎̮͉̬̃́͐̉̓̿̈́̓̓̒̈́̈͗̓̉́̃̑́̿̄̏́̈́͌͋͛̌̄͆̿̐̿͛̾̔̏͊͑̀̇̑̿̇̐̉̋͗͂͒̒̓̿͐̇̀̒͛͗̌͊̽̌̂̇͘̕͘̕͘̚͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅş̷̡̡̨̨̡̢̢̧̡̧̧̡̛̛͓̭̹̹̣̼͕̫̟̳͚͖̘̻̫̟̘̩̟̜͖͚̲̩̭͖̝̮̥̤̞̱̮̘̫̠̰̩̞͓̺̙͓̺̦̻͉̺̜̙̗͎̬̬̰̞̘͚̰̺̠̬̹͎̜̭̝̙̜̘̱̱̱͉͈͍̱̝̖͉̣̦͚̞̣̜͓͈͉̥̪͍̤͓͙͍̭͈͍̮͇̠͍̖̬̹̺͓͚̣̭̫̔̽̒̌̈́̂̒͊̽̍̄̿̏̃͛̓̑̋̓̈̂̌͒͑̓̎͌͐̎̈́͋͌̀̎͊̒̎͑̍͌́̂̂̈̈́̿̒̒̑͊́́͋͋̑̔͒̅͐̈̓̅͒̓̂̊̏͆͛̂̽͐̾̃͛͆͒̑̏͒̐̽͆̌͆͌̄͐̒̽̈̇̍̃́̍̈̆̽͛̉̾͘̕̕̕͘̕̕̕̕͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͠ͅͅs̵̡̢̡̢̧̧̡̡̡̡̡̧̧̡̢̡̡̛̛̛̛̛̜͎̗̙̞̗̫̦̯͖̖̱͉̟̪̭̠͇̳̞̩̣͚̖̗̣̟̠̣͍͈͓̮͉̜̬̩͖̝̦͇̟̙͚̯͖̼̮͓̞̮̱͓̣̫̻͙͕͈̮͈̪̞͎̖̣̺̣̬͎̻̼̼̰͇͚̻͓̘̖̹̠̗̗̪̜͇̥͇͓̥͉̠̦̻̥̤̫͖̙̜̰̰͕͍͕͓̱̙̖͇̟͚͕͍̬̪̱͇̥̅̂͌̏̿̊̀̾̇̈́͗͗̄̍̈́́̈́̓͗̐͆̄̉̌̈́̈́̎̓̑̀̀̅̍͒̄̋̓̈́͗̓̿̃̓̍̐̎̔̒̿̐̋͌͂̾̇͂̆̎̒͑̊̿̐̂̽̑̉̀͆͊̾͆̆̍̎̄͒̃̈͑̐͐͆́̄͊̾̉̑̉̑̽̽̂̆̐̂͐̂̾̊̈̈̊̃̅̓̍̄͗͆̽̅̍̇̔͑̀͒̄̌̒̆̒̓͒͑̒̏̉̋̋̂͂̽̉̀̆͂̌͒̚̕̚͘͘̕̕̚̕̕̚̚̕͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ ̵̨̡̧̨̧̨̨̢̢̢̡̧̧̧̡̧̡̡̨̤̠̭̱͈̫̯̠̹̻͕̯̼͎͓̞̞͍̪̜̝̻̜͓̱̹̻̻̟͔̤̻̰͕̼̱̟͕͖̠͖̘̥͈̹͍̠̖̹͍͓͖͓͈̺̜̰̻͕͕̱̺͕͉͇̠̬͙͉͔̬̞̬̟̺̳͔͎̩͍͚͎̠̠̹̜̥͈̹̰͚̪̞̤̣͎̭̩̺̜͕̮̥͚̟̫̖͔͕̩̱̳͇̻̝̮͔̜͙̝̦͙̫̜̼͕̥̙̳̝̗̬̳̖̥̪̳̯͙̱̟̜͈̟̦̹͍͓̄̇͆̇̈̕͜͜ͅͅḩ̶̡̢̧̧̢̧̨̨̛̛̛̛̹̞̥̫̠͕̰̝̬͈̼͈̦͍̜̝̥̯̞̭̜̦̟̰͚̤̺̪͇̼͕̯͕̣͇̼̫̦͉̩̤͙̰̬̰̟͕̗̤̝̫̬̮̻͎͈͙̗̲͕̜̪̗͈̲̳̗̺̤̬͙̭̹̹̬͓̳̖̦̭̲̱̮̣̝̼̠͙̘̥͉̐̈̽̐́̆̇̓̽̃͆̂̈́̂͌̄̇̈͂̽̓̉͌̄̀̏̃͆́͋͋̏̔̽̏̍̉͂͌̇̃͐͆̾̀̈̎̑̅̓͐̎͊̉̇͂͋̂͆̐̆̈̎͒͛̄͆̅̈̅̇́̇̒͆͐̊͋̏̒̎̓͗̄̋̊̎́̾̎́́͐̽̎͋̄̍͌̔̆̽̾̅͒͂͐͐͛͑̄̎̾͛͆̂̾͐̾̇̌͛͊̃͋͊̔̄͑͗͊̈̅͗̄̇͆̊̔̿̂̑̀̆̈͂̋̐͐̅͗̉̉̂̌̽̂̌̃̉̃͛̄̾͐̐̑̄̓̅́̈̍͊͊̚̕̕̕̚͘̕͘͘͘͘̕̚̚͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅͅé̷̡̡̡̨̨̧̡̡̢̢̨̡̡̢̨̧̢̢̢̢̡̡̡̧̨̡̡̢̢̨̡̛̛̛̹̳͈̻͇̗̮͙̯̪̹̗̲͈̲̣̝̣̘̱̥̫̥̜̲̦̭̞̼̖̣̞̙͚̟̰̬̳͎̬̠͔̹͙̪̭̭̬̯͕̰̻̗̱̞̖͓̮̘͚̜̳͔̣͇͈̙̼̰͓̺̠̭͚͓̼̼̞̦̣͓̞̞̹͚̣͕̬̜͇̺̮͚̻͇̪͖̻͇̘̤̭͍̤̩̰͓͖̪̖̤̱̙̬͕͈̫̖̗͓̬̙͚͔̗̪̭̞̬̮̩͇̘̫͈͔̝̪̗̳͎̳̜͇̯̣̜̜̣̗̮̠̗̻͔̟̮͕̘̱̦̦̱̞͔͓̺̱͕͖̼͙̬͙͚̥̱̯͔̼̘̥̹̺̰̯̰̠̪͈̯̩͉̹̮̼̣̘̳̝̼̘̳̝̙͎̣̞̳̘̜̥̰̠̥̹͎̗̺͔̜͚̤̣̻̘̤̟̠͙̣̻͈̤̖̭̯̜̳͔̩̖̥̩̠͓̫͔̺̘̪̯̦̺̦͙̙͆̎̏̉͋̀̃͐͋̊̃̄̌̃̍̍̑̑̆̿̀̇̑͆̍̅̏̿͂́́̆̐̓͑̀͆̉̆́̆̆̀͛̎͌̓̓̈́̆̎͌̔͊̆̔͊̎́̋͊̏̈̈͑̍͊͛̀̈̉̈̓̆͊̈̏̒̔̎͌͒̏͛̐̊̽͒͆̏̈͒̉̿͗̀͋͗̓̃̅̅͌̄͛̋͑͌̔̎̌̎̀̋̉͒͊͌̉̅͋̑͒͌̀͂͂̈̒̒͂͗̆̃̒̃͆̀́̃͑̐͑̆̚̕͘͘̕̕͘͘̚͘̕͘͘̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅṙ̶̢̧̨̧̡̧̧̨̡̡̢̧̧̧̢̨̧̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̩͙̖͓̭̥̖͍͔̞̪̤͙̥͈̙̟͔͕̜̮̖̜̗̟̙͈͔̣̲̤͙̜̟͔̣̪̯͚̠͈͖̻̪̜̱̭̠̦̩̠̗͓͔͈̫͈͍͎̟̫͍͇̙͉̬̟̲̥͖̗̜͓̪̼͔̹̖͎̟͈̻͉̯̖̙͓͖̜̪͙̙̰̜̳̘̩̬͚͈͇̻̞̩͚̣̺̰̪̤̱͚̝̗̜̠͍͇̦̤̦͉̞̼̬̤̳͇̫͔̹͚̭͓̦̺̻̤͎͎̜͉̻̘̤͖̹̯̲̯̤͉̫̠̳̖̰̇̈̽̋̆̈́̐͆́̆͐̐̆̿́͛̌̀́́̌̇̀̉̑̄̈́͌͂͛̃͋̓̃͂͐̓́̀̈́͗̀̐̌̀̈̇̎͆͋̾̋̇̿͊̂̍̿͆́͛͐̈͆͊̂͌͌̂̽̾̌͑̌̆̿̿̑̊͛̅̆̅͂̈̽̀̿̏̎̎̃̓̽̆̀̃̀̎͐͗͋̇͒͋͋̇͆̃͗̽͋͊̆͐̽̈̄͗̏͌͒͂̇̋̄͋̿̍̿̔͊́̈̂̽͐̋͛̎͌̑̄͋̂̔͆͌̍̏̒́̅̎́̌̀̇̔̅̏̐̋́͒̇̿̆̆͒̍̐͊̚̚̚̕̕̕̚̕̚͘̚̕̚͘͘͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͠͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ?̷̢̡̩̠̪̩͚̮̟̰͋̀̋̏͌̃̐͗͝͝

 

“Are you looking for clubs? You could join my club! We are looking for members.”  
“Huh?” I turn around to see a girl with long purple hair grinning at me. What was I just doing? I don’t remember the past about, 5 minutes.  
“Um...Are you interested in the Literature Club?” Now that I’m looking at her, the girl seems a lot more shyer.  
“Literature...Club?” It admittedly takes a while for me to notice how beautiful this girl is. If I join, it’d be for her.  
“Y̿oͭu᷾ d̒öǹ’͆t̾ r̲e̞m̤e̦m͡bͪȇr̓?̫ Yes, the Literature Club! It’s a club...for literature.”  
This is just embarrassing. “Yeah.” What?  
Now the girl looks surprised. “What?” It’s as if she didn’t expect me to join.  
I was really only half thinking when I said that. I guess I have to go on with it though. “What, did you not expect me to join?” That was probably not the right thing to say.  
“ᵒᶠ ᶜᵒᵘʳˢᵉ ᶰᵒᵗ﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗﹗  
N-No, not really!”  
“Really? But you’re so beautiful! Who wouldn’t want to spend time with you?”  
**“N̵̡̦̮͖̰̞͙͇̜̻̳̩̞̥͈̽͊̋́͆̾͊̄̂̕͝Ǫ̷̧̡̺̮͚̯͔̹͔̤̝̇̂ ̴̨̨̛͓̝͖͇̜̘̱̔̌̉̀̀̑̐̉̑̓̕͘͜͠Ỏ̶̢̫͕͠Ņ̷̼̰̳͍̠̞̤̈́͌̅E̸̗̥͉̰̦̖̍̾̈́̓͊̏̉͂̈́̓̀͊̕͠͝ͅ ̷̛͔͔̳͙̻̯͇̉̄́͌̌͠ͅF̶͎̖̠̍͆͒̆̾͌̀̎Ȗ̵̢̬̘̮̞̰̄ͅC̴͓̳͚̫̓̉͗͐̆̈́̓̈́̓́̓̑͝K̸̨̼̠̯̞͇͙͎͚̈́̃̿̓̓͝ͅI̸͖̫̝̝̟̋̔̐͝N̷̼̮̫̞̠̉G̵̨̬̺̯̜̖͉̯̑̆́̇͋̅̏̐̏͆͒͌̐͆͘ͅͅ ̵͕̟͎̤͈̗̫̌͘͜D̶̺̺̙̲̫̬̙̳̞̰͎̮̹̓̿̑̚ͅÔ̶̢̙̼͇̱̥̻̼̰̭̘̦ͅE̴̢̡̗̞͚̟̹͓̯̞͚͇̜̿́̓̄̏̊̈̈́͛̐̍̀̀̉S̶͈̺͎̺͍̣̊̌**!̸̧͔̦̣̬̫̙̭̦̇̉̋̉̅̑̾̿̕͝ͅ Ahaha! Thank you!”

  
I smile. “You’re welcome.”  
Wait...what?  
Did it really take me that long to process this.  
How am I supposed to be in a Li t r rrr a aaaaaaaaaaa

Ahaha! Sorry about that.  
He’s...gone now. Or...was that you? Whoever the person telling the story was. Before me, of course.  
I don’t think she was supposed to be there.  
But...I don’t know, maybe she was.  
I sure shouldn’t, so, who else?  
She would seem the most mature to them.  
Tell me, was Sayori there?  
She had to be. God, imagine the Literature Club with only two members!  
But I guess that way we’d all experience some kind of presidential power. Except you, I suppose.  
Wait, are you here? You’re here, right? I’m not just...talking to myself.  
I mean, if it’s not you, who do I talk to, right? Haha.  
Did you notice it was a lot more glitchy than when I was there? Maybe that says something about my mental state compared to Yuri’s. They are very different, haha.  
...I messed up bad, ddddddddddidn’t I?  
Oh no.  
Ohh nooooo . .... .. ..... .  
....  
Hhhhhheelpppp.... .h e l p !

h e l p m e

 

“ⓢⓗⓔ’ⓢ ⓖⓞⓝⓔ ⓝⓞⓦ.  
“ⓕⓞⓡⓔⓥⓔⓡ.  
“ⓕ̶ⓞ̸ⓡ̶ⓔ̷ⓥ̵ⓔ̷ⓡ̴.̶  
“ⓕ̷̩̂̎ⓞ̷̖̝͌̐̊ⓡ̶͎́ⓔ̷͚̞̑̏ⓥ̶̱͛ⓔ̶̧̮̚ⓡ̷̢̗̐̕͘.̶͚͊́͊  
“ⓕ̷̼̒̈́̒̄̈́̌̇̏̒̅̄͌̎̈̐̎͛͛̕͘͝͝ⓞ̸̢̡̢̹̞̣̺̳͍͓͉͓̪̞̦̗̠͍̠̺̩̲̖͚̻̈́͜ͅⓡ̶̢̛̝̖̭̥̱̳͑͑̎͒̉͊̒̎͒͂̽̌ⓔ̴͙̎͊̎̐̂̈́͗̌̐̕̕̕ⓥ̶̡̨̡̥͙̲͖̱̙͖͚̙̭̱̣͎͔̋͋͋͠ͅͅⓔ̴̭͍̖̭̰̦͙̭̬̞̦͚̰̊ⓡ̴̡̢̱͉͉̬̈́̑͌͒̑́̓̈́̊̊̈͐̎̑̋̋̆͝.̷̡̨̺͙̜̙͕͈̳̲͖̫̩̱̫̤̟̪̦̥̗̈̈̑̌͜͝ͅͅ ⓕ̶̢̡̨͓̳̖̜̥͈͇̣̙̥̳̠̺̤̣͓̟̺̲͈̼͓̜͇̳̘̝͔̥̳̳̥͕̱̙̻̒̃̽́̈́̾̀̾́̈̊̄͒͋̋̂̂̋͂̄̋̓͋̒̇̉͐̉̅͒͗̒̕͜͠͝ͅⓞ̴̢̧̨̛̛̛̛̛͇̮̞̖̱̙̥̟͙̙͔̩̲̥̥̪̗͚̰͎̠̲̫̘͕̘̜̩̰̖̼͔̯͖͎̰̖͉͈̘͉̜̜͒͌̏̈́̇̈́̂̑͆̓̀͐͌̽͊̀͌͋̏̆̍͛͂̍͐̂͑̾̎̉͂̍͌̽̐̈̾̄͒̇̍̎͛͐̄͌̀̒͒͐̊̒̾͘̚͜͜͝͠͠͝ͅⓡ̵̨̡͍͚̘̙͈͎̝̰̘̹͙̻̗͈̮̘̩͙̠̥̙͖̜̗̼͖̰̩̦̹̞͉͙̖̩̩̘̳̱̜̳͉̳̱͕̟̫̭͔͇͎̫̲̯͔͇͛̃̔̃̄̓̿́̅̿́̀̐̃̐͒̓͋̆̒̀̂̄̈́̓̈̂̎̽̉̀͐̍̀̏̀̃̊͊̓̔̂̌̃̈́̂̐̈̏̓̌̄̍̓̂̏̉̈͛͑̓̅͛̾͑̉̂́̇̔̕͘̚̕͜͝ͅͅⓔ̸̨̛̛͕̫͙̯̱̞̲̯̺̪͇͔̳̹̭̭͖͔̤̗͍͙͉̭̠̜̹͖͉̟̙͈̤̦̞͖̫̭̝̼̣̳̗̭̠̫̱͔̱͓̖̲͕͎̲̮͖͍͉͇̱͖̞͇̹̮̤͙͎̩̬̭̥̱͖̻̃̀͑̋̿́̑̀͆̌̊͊͋̂͂͒̉͑͗͗̋̉̃̈́́̆͐́̀͒̓̈́̆̉̎͂̽͂͑̍͐̈́̊̾̈́̋͌͒̂̀̄̅̍̆͘̚͜ͅͅͅⓥ̴̧̢̛̛̘͉̥͇̤̫͔͎͓̳̦̬͔̹̫̭̠̰̙̗̝̲͔̝̥̝̯̦͕͉̲̻̲̬͎͕͉̘̜͚̺͈̲̣͗́̑̈́́̂̂̓̑͌͑̄̈̅͂̒̊̐̈́͑̀͒̀͆̃̓̅̏̒̈̄̏̊́̀̂̓̀̍̒̀̏́̉͐͐̀͑̈́̕̕̚̚͜͝͝͝ⓔ̵̨̡̧̛̖̤̮͕̤͕̬̳̥̲̱͕̫̤͚͉̤̜̼̤͍̖̖̜̺̘͎̳͕̭͚̣̋̎̀͗̀̈́̈́̏̅́͆̎͛̊̂͊̋̍̃͐̏̆͒̋͛̂̓̔̿͐͐̂͆̌̓̽̇͌͐̔̌͂͆̈̌͐̓̔̏͒́̕̚̕͝ͅⓡ̵͕̈̀͑͋̓̉̓́̓̅̄͆̊͋̐͑͘̚̚͘͝͠.̸̧̨̨͍͉̣̺̻̞͔͍̦͓̯͖̫̗͓̟̮͈͍̳̫͈͎̫͍̗̻̱̦͉̠̻̙͚̻̱̟͑̒̇̍̅́̽͐͒̏͐̈́̿̓̚͘͝ͅ ⓕ̴̧̡̢̛͚̬̲̻̜͈̳̩̣͈͕̬̱̣̞͕͔̯̩̰͓̜͚̖̪̙̪̺̜͔͓̠̺̤͕͇̼͍̺͉̠̞̲̰̤̤͒̂͊͗̇̅̎̇̏͋̉̀͑́̀̀̆͌́͌̐̋͗̂̈́͐͌̀̊͂̆͗̅̐͒̄̀̅̒̈̃̂̅͊̊̋̄͒̍͛͗̾̎͗͑̐̅̊̽͗̈͌̎͒̈͗͂̄͆̾̾̆͌̌́̚̚͘̕̕̚̕̕̚͘̕̕̕̕͜͝͝͝͠͝͝ͅͅⓞ̶̧̨̡̨̧̢̢̨̛̛̛̛͓͈̯̘͔̣͔̣̖͕͔̣͓̬̠̺̗̘̠̞̠̜̙̘͎͖̩͕̘̲͔͉͇̻̞̗̝̭̼̪̯̜̤̯̜̠̹̜̩͕̦̺͖͈͓̳̠̲̫͚̣̙̜̖̲͎͖̖͚̞̥̞̙͚͙̲̙̪̥̻̫̜̲̞̲̝̰͇̬͎̞͖̫̰͚̩͉̱̀͂̅͐̄͒̽͗̎́̃̓̎͑̈́̀̏͐̽̀̆̀̌͒̅͌̽̿͑̋͑̆̀̎͋͒̍̏̊̓͐͗̽̍̃̀͗͋͊̀͒́̄͌̐̿̎̿̂̊̄̅͋̀͋̌͋̇̆̔̂̋͑͆̅̿͛̽̆͘̕͘͘̕̚͘͘͘̕͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅⓡ̵̨̡̡̛̖̪͎͎͂̽̅͛́̿̀̅͌̀̇̀̃̆̈́͑̅̇̄͑͊̃͂̏̎͒̌͒̋͋̈́̏̔̑̽̅̀̅̋̊̃̿̈̉͂̆̎̌̃́̒́̍̀͘͝͠͝͝ⓔ̵̢̡̡̢̡̧̢̧̨̧̛̛̛̥̹͉͖͈̖͖͍͙̞̞͕̹͈̼̦͙̯͉̼̞̺̱̭̲̤̳̱̞̥̫̤͔͚̟͉̩̲̱͖̻͍͑͒͛̍͗͊͒͐́͗̎̿̆̋̊̅͊̓̒̐̑̈́͂͒̂̏̐̈̔̑͐̔̈́̓̍̃̂͂̒̇̍̍͛̅̂̾͗̈́́͆̽̆̂̆̽̄̈͐̓͗̌͋͆͐͑̽̊͌̂́͆̈̂͛̿̎̇̐͑̀̈͆̎͂̋̇̍͘͘̕͘̚̕̕̕͝͝͝͠͝͝ⓥ̶̨̡̧̧̨̢̢̛̙͔͔͚̹͚̱͙̥̟̬͖͙͕̻͉̦͈̤̦̺̫͚̥̆̇́͋̆̈́̽̃͘͘͜͠͝ⓔ̸̨̡̨̢̨̢̨̛̬̖͇͓̟̲͙̫̙̘̠̖̣̳̖̠̦̯̙̪̮̲̱͙̥̻̙͖̲͍̣̱̖̪̬͈̤͕̰͇͇̖͎̱͓̠͈̯̣̣̹̟̬̯͇͈̪̞̣̗̝͖̻̯̪̻͍͔̪̼͉͎͓̼̐̎̌͗̔̿̎͒̂͌̉̾̈͂́́̉̊́͑͂̈͛̈́̆̂͛̄̂̆̃̃̀͌̊̊͋̂̒̄̓̈́́̕͜͠͠͝͠͝͝ͅⓡ̴̛͚͚̬̫̲̝̱̬̘͒̈̏͂̋́̀̀̀̂̓̄͋̆̽̌̅͆̈́̉̈́̌̀̎̀̓͋̿͐͒̏̈́́̋͐̓̄͒̀̏̀̑̽̓̋̆̏̊͂̉́̍͐͘̚̚̕̚̚͜͝͝͝͝͠͝.̷̢̢̢̨̡̧̹͚̻̤̺̯̳̥̣̦͉͎̻̤̣͚̯͍̞͇̙͇͍̝͙͎̻͇̺̠̱̜͇͇̭͚̲̣̹͈͚̗̝̻̭̞͙͖̦̱͉̳̞̹̝͇̱̪̲̲͉͇̺̰̣̥̻͍͇̳̞̮̗̳̹̔̇̈́̄͋̐̎̑͐̍̃̄͒̅͑̔̄͛̈́̐͋̇̎̾̓́͌̆̆̄̉͑͐͐̃́͗̏̃̿͌̅͑̌͂̓́̈͒́̄̒̑̑̔̃̋̃̋͂͆̇̌̄͒͂̏̊̃̅̂̌͂̌́͐̐̅̕̚͘͘̕͘̚͜͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅ ⓕ̷̡̢̡̡̧̢̡̧̨̢̛̛̛̤̘̗̘͙̹̺̯̳̬̗̺̻̰̟̗̜͉̜̹̺͉̫̥̦̹͚̩͉̲̙̹͎̰͓̰͖̮̗͙̠̳̤̭̭̦̦̩̤̹̠̝͙̜̰͎͍̼͕̱̭̯͓̼͕̤͈̜̣͉̫̼̰̺̰͇̳͙̯̳̗̱̼̝̩̼̭̗̩͉̣̖̠̖͎͒̽̄͋̾͛̉̽̍͗͗̊͆͆̃̓̿̄͆͆̍̆͑͋͆͂͛͗́͋͌̋̿̈͆̀́̏̽̊̃̒͊̐̓̍̌̀̎̆̅͑̆͑͋͌̊̇͋̽͆͆͒́̄͗̾̾̍̊͋͆̉͋͊̒̐̿͆̾̍͊͌̏͋̂̓͑̄̍̆͋̅̂̇͊̒͆͊͑͗͗̉̽̑̆̂͌̀̉̈̔̒͗͌͛͛͋͂̌̋͗͊͛̇̚̚̕͘͘̚̚̚̕̕̕̕͘̚̕͜͠͠͠͝͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅⓞ̷̡̨̡̧̨̧̧̧̢̨̢̛̛̛̛͙̰̹̘̠̭͉͎̖̜̖̺̫̘̗͔̫͎̙͚̥͕̯͍̻̦̗͎̘̹̣̺͇͕̼͇͎͖̹͉̳̖͙̲̲͍͎͉͖̻̮̟͚̯̟̗̭̖̝̰̹̰͖͖̳̮͔͎͎̱͖̰̱͍̺̱̺̦̺̣͙̳͔̭̱̘̗͚̟̇̊̒̌̓͗̈͐̂́̏̃̌̐͗̐̔͋̈́̈́̆̄͐̓͐̽͐̏̈͊́̓̏̓̃́̈́̂̓̑̏́̓̒̓̃̄͐͗́͛͂͛̐̉̀̐̅̽̌̅͐̒̅̄̇͒̈͂̋̌̅́̑́͋̒͂̿͂͊̇̒̑̂̆̾͋̎͂̾̇͘̕̚̕̚͘͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅͅⓡ̸̧̨̧̛̛̛̛̛̪̬͈̯̥̙̼̰̞̩͔̩̣̺̹̩̤͉͈̰͇͎̠̣͙͙̫̲̺͈̩̗̠̲̥̯͔̫̖͍̤̠͓͇̺̹̬́̄͗͌͋̄̒̿́̌͛̽̉͐̓̓̉̾́̍́́̽̃̈́̀͆́͑̄͛̍̌̓͊̎͒̀̑͑̓͊̃͆̐̋͑͂̿̒̐͗͛̃̽̾͌͛͋̇̋͂̐̓̊̊͐́̌̾̉́̐̒̂̒̆̀͛̿̋̈̃͐͗̉̆̎̆̍̿̇̑͐̀͊̒̀̒́̊͗̽͗̆̚̕̚̕̕͘̕̚̕̕͠͠͝͝͝͠͠͝͝͝ͅͅⓔ̸͉͆̿̈́̍̀͗̔̈́͘̕͝ⓥ̵̢̧̢̧̧̨̢̧̨̨̛̛̖̦̘͚̙͍͇̤̳̫̩̬͇̟̳̯̱͍̟͚͚̞̦͚̳̼̞̣̙̗̜̦̤̥͉̟̙͖̰̱̮̣̹͈͎̘̦͖̬̤̰͚̤͈̻͎̺͍͚̻̯̻͍͕̖̩͈͍̻̯̣͈̗̤̮̭͚̼̻̼̲̲̙̲̤̩̫̠̤̟͎̦͓̞͉͖̬̞̯͖͙̰̤̜̥̗͍̥̣̱͖̬͔̼̿̋̄̔͊̑̌̉̉̉̄̓̋̅̽̒̊̈͗̌̍̈́̿̐̐̄̋̃̊̍̅͑̽͋̍͆͛̌̓̈́̆̌̎͑̓́̒͗̿̋͊̐͂̊͐͑̽̒̾̉̒̍͛͌͆̏͛̊̈̏͑͛̄̍̈͋̎̆̊̌̄̀̌̅͊͑̂͛͛̐̑͂̈͋͌̐͂̌́̌͑̄̔̉̉̎̌͘̕̕̚͘͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͠͝͝͝ͅⓔ̸̨̨̡̳̱̱̞͖͉̤̻̺̱͙̠̤̲̙͔͓̞͔̣̺̠̼͍̫̮̬̲͉̲͕̦̬̭͖̪̞̗̳̺̖̖̳̥̭̲͕̞̯̗̭̘̘̃̄̿́̿̀͑͛́́̀́̏̈͛̓͆͑̂̈̋̒̄́̓͗̒̀́̓͛͗͊́̔͗̎̉́̐̽͗̎̅̒̌̀͌͊̀̈͒̍̂́͛̒̚̚̕͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅⓡ̵̢̧̢̢̢̢̧̨̧̢̢̡̘̥͍̲͚̙͍͚̘̗̟̩͉̘̤̦͈̗͎̞̳̥̦̪̭̬̟̮̤̣̣̱̝͍͎̻̟̞̤̘̮̘̠͙̜̣̲͚̠̘͉̩͙̠̦̪̥̟̩̪̪̩͎͍̟̩͚̭̪̩̖̠̹͔͓̫͍̺̬͖̘͙̦͎̱̱̟̬̙͎̬̦̲͍͚̜̤̬̪̹̠͙̝̭̯͍̺̘̙͇̹̻̗͇͈̱̦̘̥̘̮͓̳̪͉̖̭̩͙͔͈̤̯̙̱͙͚̫̪̹͓̟̦͍̺̹͉͙̫̹̔̿̽̈́̏̈́͐̑̒͊̄͋̇͌̌̉̇̾̓̈́͆̓̍͌̎͗̑̋̂̊̓́͑̇̈́̂̐̓̈́́̀̑̽͛̉̿̽̏̈̓̌̒̋̅̔̓̿̔̾̆̏̕̕̕͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅͅ.̸̢̢̨̧̨̧̡̢̨̨̢̧̨̡̛̛̼̟͙̭̮̟̪̝̮̻̯̫͎̻̘̻̲̠̬̻̳̟̻͓̲̱̪̥̞͈̹͈̖̭̠̹͎̥̬̭͔̭̺͔̼̤̹̳̗͎̼̖͕̹̭̳͙̜͇͔̖̲̱͉͙̘̤͖̗̠̘̜͉̖̖̪̝͕͎̝̺͇̭̫͔̝͔͉̯̞̟͙̜̪͎͔̲̭̮̗̬̭̠͉͚̠̩̪̠̞̯͕̺̲̼̱̥͇͙̯̠̰̹̱̻̥͉̥̰͖͚̜̰̱̰̰̮̫̹͖̖͍͚͖̦̖̮̗̻̿̾͊̉́̀͊̀͂̅͂̑͂͑̾̍͒̽̾̌̓̂̊̏͊̽̓̀̔͊̀̈́̆̐́̓́͋̽̄͂̑̍́̓̇̊͗͐͌́͌̒͑̾̈̎̎͋͒̒͋̃̃̎̿̅̅̏̄͋̾̈͂̅̐̋̿͌̅͂̀̆̀̄̑͐̽͆̔̎̃̿͊̋͊̊̑̇͌̿̐̾̃̆̂̀̾́̕̕͘̕͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͝͠͠͝ͅͅͅⓕ̸̡̢̡̨̢̢̢̢̨̢̛̛̛̛̹͇̭̙̲̤̙̟̥̭͙̣̺͙̬̳̯̱̤͕̻̪̳̖̲̫͎͎̺̞̪̺̞̪̼̖̫̳̼͍͍̙͓̲̫̯͍̫̙͖̺̣͕̱̰̪̖̯͓͚̘̠̯̮͎̯͙̖͍̹̭̳̪͍̖͉͎̭̼͉̲͇̲̩̫͓̣̝̲̝̝̣͙͋͑̎̄͊̓̓̃͌͂̂̾̈̀̈́̃͌̀͊́̅̈́̀̈́̀̃̿͌̈́̋̈́͑̏̉͆̂̅͂̔͐̐͑͊̏͐̔̾̽͆͐͒̏͗̍̌͌̃͑̉̈̄͒̍̏͊̀̋̅͑̌̈̔̐̋͌̑̊̄͒͌̃͗́͋͗̈̈̄͗͒̋̉́̑̀̉̏̑́͂̊̅̔̑͛̓͆̔͑͗̎̾͆̾̓͛̋͛͋͂̍̃̾͗̃̌̄̆͌̂̾̃̐̀̌̈͐͋͑͑͆̐͐̀̆̓̎͘̚̚͘̚͘̕̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͝͝͝͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅⓞ̶̧̨̧̡̡̛̛̛̛̫͍̤͎͓̤̹͙̩̜̖͕̳̻̞͉̯͔̤̱͔̖͚̯͔͓̝̳̝̥͓͚̩̳͎̖̺̬͕̹̪̣̠̱̠̹͚̪̘̪͇̫̮̒̇͑͊̈̌͊͌̓̄̈́̈͛̎̎͋̀̅̂͂͆̆͐͛̉̏͌̈́̔͛͂̃̐͑̄̎̏͆̀͗͊̇̀̅̍͆͑̅̐͐̅͌́͒̂͑͑͆̈́̇͒̔̊͐͑́͊͐͐͆̏͒̋̽̄͒͋̾͋̇̆͂̓̅̈̿̏̅̀́̃̊͑̓̉͒̆͆̃̃̉̑̇̂͊̎̀̽͐̃̇̉̂̓͗̉̏̐͑̋̉̊̾̇͋̑̆̊͗̽͊̄͐̋̏̅̀̈̃̾̃̊̅̈̌̃͋̌̊̆̌͌̃͛̋͒̋̊͑̊̇̈̒̊̃͘͘̕͘͘͘͘̕̚̕͘͘̚̚̚͜͜͠͠͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͠͠͝͝ͅͅͅͅⓡ̸̡̡̢̛͇̜͖̞͚̗͙̟͓̬͔́̈́̑̏̓̎̀͋͂͐͌̈́̆̋̈́́̔̓̒͐̔̈͑͗̿̀̓̓͋̇̄̋̂̌͐̀̀͆̔̀̐̍͆͘͠͝͝͝͝ⓔ̴̧̡̢̨̨̧̧̡̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̛̯̗̠͕͉̮̮̼̹͇͙̩̜̙̙̣̙̺͎̼̭̤̞̦̱̞̱̤̬̮̗̭̙̙͔͇̲͙̝̜̩̩̭̙̞̖̦̜̞̗̹̼̖̙͎̘͎̱͇̻̺̌́̍͂͌̆̈͂͗̒͊͒̉̈́̔͊̍͋̊̄̎̊̄̓̐̔̍̌̊̓͑͋̏͒̔̊́̈̒̈́̾̈̇̽̀̀̍̔͒͛͛̈͌̎̒̂͋̾̾͗̆̈̾̿͊͌͂̌̃̽͒̑̿̔̇́̇͂͊̔͊͂̃͌̃͆̎̆̋̇̑͌̒̍̃̋̉̊̌͒̾̇͆͐̇̿̋̂͂̇̿̍̓̎̎́̋̋͒̂̏͆̐̿̓̅̎͑̌̉͒̋̎̊̄̑͐̊̈̐̄̊̍͘̕͘̕͘̚̚̚͘͘͘͜͜͜͜͠͝͝͝͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͝ͅⓥ̶̧̢̢̢̢̧̡̨̛̛̛̛̫͎͚̖̼̜̖̫̱̖̤͕̙̟̪̹͖̜̱͕͉̖̺̳͍͕̹͖̙̻͚͎̯̜̲̙̯̳͇͇̘̣̤͇͇̳͉̩̥͍̩̜͙̰̮̦̦̞̠͙̠̲͈̙̻͈̫̦̝̗̯̖̲͈̲̫̤̙̲͂͆̓̀̈̀̈́͂̀̄̊̃̓̐̏̉͗̀̇̊͒͐̽̾͒̊͐͆̿̀͌̉̋̏̄̽̔͒̅͌͂̐͋͌́̎̊̽̒̍̆̂̓̉̋̂́̎͒̾͐͒̏̋̍́̄̎͛͌͗̇̉͑̒̆̑̎̎̌̒̔̿̂̈͂̇̔́̐̋̄̊͑̅̏͊͑̍͋͆̾̾̽̃͗̎̋̉̓̏͐̌̅̒̒͐̋͌͒̑͊͘̚̕̕͘̕̚̚̕̚̚̚̕̕͜͝͝͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅⓔ̴̧̢̨̨̧̨̧̢̨̢̢̛̛̛͓͇̞̜̮̜͚̝̖̟̪̜̼̞̺̰͙̝̬̖̥̪̮̰̠̩̦͚̰̟̙̝̥͈͕̤͈̹̝̫̞͉͕̼̫͎̼̥̝̭̰̞̙̥̹̰͇͖̩̩̮̱̖̙̳̦͍̬̣̪̖̟̟̬̹̤̮̭͎̼̩͎͈̩̞̺̞̠̠̬̺̖̖͍̗̮͍͔̘̝̫͚̪̫̼͇̦̪͎̼͖͍̳̖̮͕̲̣̻̻̹̦͖̻̭͒͐̈́̈́́̿̈́̿̆̀͆̄͋͌̎́̑̃́̉̊̿̆̑͌̆̊̅̆̅̋̑̽̈́́̌̇͆̽̍̃͑̄̋͊͋̈́̇͆́̈̈͛̒̿̅̈͊̅̍̂̈͑̐͂͗̂̐̓̇̄̆̓̈̑̄̃͑̇̑͒̍́̊͒͌̒̎̋̋͊̽̅͒̏͐͘̕̕͘̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͝͠͝ͅͅͅͅⓡ̸̨̢̨̡̧̧̧̧̡̢̧̡̡̧̡̡̡̡̨̧̧̛̛̛͎̮̖̱͔̮̩̙̼̩͉͔͎̥̟̳̹̮̟̩̺̺̩͉͇̖̰͚͍̟̬͎̮̯̟̦͖̬̹͙̰̳̳̯̩͖̦̥̝͍̟̪̺͙̟͈̬̗̥̼̣͎̯̱̬̣͕̘͙̰͚̣̫̙̙̟̫̤̟̫̘̠̭̜̰̲̼̫͇̙͖͙̮͔̩̭̬̣͈̹̩̻̟̳͍͖͙̬̱̫͚̹͕͇̦͉̙͎̫̣̬̺̱͖̖̗͖̟̗̮̙͚͙̠͚̹̭̲̭̹̟͉̝̲̫̩̥͇͎͓̞̻̞̩͕̻̫̰̰̹̠̥̬̬̘̗̜͚̲̦͓̬̮̘́́̃͑̈́̀̎͆̎͂̐͌͛͊͒̌͋͊̅̓̀̀͑̆͗̽̊̏̔̑͂́̐̃̂̋̀̒͒̉̎̋̄̃̇̋̏̈́͗͐̽̓̌̄̾͛̌͗͋͂̎̔̇͑̆̈̿̎̑̒͑̏̓̋̀͂̃̃͐̂̓͒͐͑́͒͋̂̑̃́̏̉̂̇̏͆͑̄̋̌̑͛̆̃̔̽͗̀̊̒͊̑͛̂͒͂͌̾̌̇͌̕̚̕͘̚͘͘͘͘̕͘͜͜͜͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅ.̴̢̧̡̧̨̡̢̧̢̨̢̢̛̘̳͚͉̯̤͖͍͈̠̯̪̝̫͙̻̬̩͍̳͎͎̞̖͎͇̬͔̝̠̮͇̼̪̠̙͇̞̘̱͕̗͙̱̳͍͈̰̝̤͔͙͕̯̯̜̙̣̟̪̤̳͖̫̪̯͇̺̤͉͓̯̪̞͚͔͙̣̤̲̟̜̯̗͖̻̣̯̲̹̮̣̹̠̭͍̺̙̜̭͙̼̼̯̗̍̊̓͆̔̓̈̈̓̀͛͐͌̍̋̈́̈́̍͊͛̒͑̉̀̎̂͂̊̇̽̿̋̇̇͒̂̅̔̀̒́̄̂̀̄̔͂̎̍̓̽̉̕̕͜͜͜͜͠ͅͅͅⓕ̴̨̛̛̛̘͍͚̖̤̜̩̼͖̪̼̤̲̼͕̦̮̮̫̜̣͕͕̖̺̗͚̘̹̻͓̳̺̹̳͕̭̲̆̍̂͆̑̒̀̊͋̈͆̆̌̒̏̾̈̈̄̿̌̅̈̀̂̉̈́̀̿̿̀͊́̒̂̈̄̓̔̃̋͌̅̅́͗͒̇̾͋͊̌̑̆̋̆͒̿̄́͑̌͌͑͑͗̆̅̔͑́̊͒͂̿̽̉̿̀̋̽͐̐͑͌͂͒̆̂̇̏̒͌͛͐̿̈̾̊͂̓̀͂̋̀̋̾̏͆̿̔̾̾̊̋̌͐͋̐́̇̂͛̇̀̇̍̾́͛̌̏͂̈̿͌̉̃͊͌͋͒͐͛̃̎͑̀̽͂͑͐̒̑̌͊̽̉̇̑̆̇͗̀͗̿̑̅̓͒͛́͗̓̆͐̈͛̅͊̋̾̅̌̆͊̑̕͘͘̚͘̚̕̕̚̚̕̕͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͠͝͠͠ͅⓞ̵̨̧̡̡̢̧̧̨̨̡̧̢̡̢̧̧̛̛̛̛̛̛̦͔̭͖̘͔͙̙̻͍̩̥̯̳̻̝̬͍̠͙̗̺͇͓̭̱͙̭̠̙̝̯̫̦̬̳̱̙͓̤͎̲͍̻̙͙̩̻̳̗̬̼̻̝͈͕̜͎̥̟̤̤̣̮̻̝̲̩̗͉̞͈̣̮̣̣͖̹͈̦̘̹̹͍̭̱̝̜̪͖̮͎̦̹͈̲̟̣͎͕̗̲͎͓̯̤̙̞͚̼̲̳̣̖̮̤̯̤̬̝̼̫͈͙̳̦̖̝̳̟̣̝͉͕̅̐͗̉͆͋̋̄͂͊́̍̏͑͐͒̆̒̾̆̉͑́͋̒͂̌̉̉̆́̽͆̓̋̀́̈̿̀͑̂̎̈́́̍͊͆̌̽͒̆̐̐̔͑͊͛̆̓́͑͗̃̉͌͊̏͂̔͒̉̀̿̄͋̃͗͆́͊͗̂̊͑̐͆͊͗̇̈̆̉͒̿̽̃̈̎̿̍͒͐̋͂́͋̽͌͆͋͊̉̋̎͒́́͊̏͌́̃̔́̂̒͊̆̿͋͂̉̒̅̎͂̀̔͗̌̍̔͊͛̉̀͊͗͐̑̍͆̾̀͌͒͊͂̃̑̂͐̑̌͛̔̅̀͂̽̾̾̇̾̐͑̊̽̃̉͆̉̔͆̐̈̕̚͘̚̚̕̕̕̚̚͘̕̚̚̚̚͘͜͜͜͝͠͝͠͠͠͝͝͠͠͝͝͝͝ͅͅⓡ̷̢̢̧̢̡̨̢̧̨̢̨̨̨̨̧̢̢̧̧̛͖̮̥̟̦̣͙̰͖̞͇̤̱̪̞̫͍͔̯̳̰̠̺̞̬̳͈͙͙̤̹̻̗͍̥̪̖͓̱̫͓̤̣̙̗̹̭̭̻̥̲̜͔̯̫̬̤̲̲̭̣̦̺̙̠͕̘̻̦̝̲͍̺̲̙͔̭̖̹̤̫̬̯̼̟̭͈̹̭̙̼͎̲͕̜̣̱̭̯̣͚͍͉̹̞͙͔͉̓̈́̃́̆͛͛̌̓̓͗́̽̿̇̉͂́̈́̃͗̿͋̾̌̓̋̍̿̏̏̍̃̌͗̍͑͐͋̍͆͑̽̿͊̒̀̽̄̆̓͋͗͂͒́͑͆̋͑̍̾̅͌̌̃̓͌͒̏̌̄̋̂͑̊̉̊͋́͛͐͌́̽͂̂̔͛͒̐̃̉̅̌͐͛̿̾̓́̈̈́̄͋͊̕͘͘͘̕͘̚̕͜͜͜͠͝͝͠ⓔ̴̨̡̧̡̨̡̢̡̧̨̢̡̧̨̨̨̢̡̨̧̧̛̛̱̬̙̰͍͓͇̺̼͖̮̮̲̙͚̖̤̗̮̣̟̹̭̹̦̘̠͕̠̪̱̤̱̮̭̪̟̦̳̥̰̜̖̫̱̪̹̰̼̮͈͎̹̪̞̱̪̞̩̱͍̭͍̻͇̯̙͈̜̖̝̹̙͎͔͓̘̖̗͕̼̻͔̼̞̩̝̯̲̜̜͍͔̦̠̳͎͚̼͚̥͍͖͚͈̰̲̳̥̹͓̱̙̱̫̮̪̙͇͈̭̼̥͎̫̖͎̠͎̺̥̪̲̼̲͉̪͖͚͕̟̯̯̫̺̞̞̹͕̙̼͔͈̤̹͔̲̰̞̻̯͙̩̟̲͓̰͚̿͒̂̇̊͌͐͂̋͊̓̀̀̓͂́̎̄͛̄̀̊͋̓̓̑͛̈͌̇̊̑̐́͂͋̿͛̐̊͋͂̀́̅̅̿̾̀̇͋̕̕͘̕̕̕͜͜͜͜͜͠͠͠͠͠ͅͅⓥ̶̨̨̢̨̢̨̨̢̧̢͈̼̟͈̩͓̖̺̤̣̲͉̟̩͕͍͓͖̳͓̮͍͇̞̗̳̮̥̣͙̜͚̝̠͙̳͉̼̮̣̖͍̗̻͚̝̰̣̻̖̻͇̠͓̮̳͉̺̠̰̪̫̠̖̱̤̯̥̗̥̞̱͇͚̳͇̜͈̻̠̟̝̹͍̙̠͍̱̰̰̙̖̞̗͕͖̫͕̥̥̱̗͕̹̻͙̞̱̭̮̗̲̰̟̗͕̙̻̠͎̣̳̟̣̃͑̌́̈́͐̑͆̃̈́̒̐̀̿̀̇̒̊̀͗̀̓̌̀̂̎̾̈́͐̑̊́͐̊̂͘̚͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝ͅͅ  
ⓔ̵̡̢̧̨̨̡̢̧̢̨̢̨̡̢̧̨̧̛̛̛̖͉̭͇̪̫̳̭͕̰̖͉͙͇̲̜̼̝͙͉͓̬̟̠̥͇̠̯̰̖̦̼̜͇̼̤͉͔̞͕͖̦̘̹̙͚̫̺̫͉͎̼̫̭̳̩̲̤̳̣̣̱͇̘̣͉̟̙̞̗͍̟̬̲͕̬̳͈͇̦͕̜̱̗̰̻̩̜̥̻͕̲̯̘̭̜̥̰̱̣͈͓̙̱̻̜̮͎͕̲͚̻̻̹̜̬̗̭̯̝͚̞̝̹͈̭̱̲̠̹̖̣̼̣̹͍͎̖̜̮͉̹̗͕̗͓̲͓̯̫̘̟̻͎͙̬̘͖͙̱̪͓̣̩̱̫̪̭̖̠͇̪͈͚̑̉̂͆̊̌̋͌̓̏̀́́̈́̀̆͌̄̃͊̄̐̊́͛̅̅̃̉͋̅̿̋͒̓͆̽̌͗̃͒̅͋͂̿̉̓̍̅̑̆̈́̈́̂̽͒̏̽͊̐̑͛̿̉̉̊̐̊͑̌̓͌̽̑̓̀̑̆̊̌̏̏̏̒̽̉͑̀̿͋̃̾̀̀́͑͋̏̋͌̑͑͗́͂͌̿͊͊͗̄͋̒̿̓̂͋̂̏̽͑̎͗̍̌̑̂͒̒̔̇̍̌̾̑̇͒̇̓̒̈̆͌͊̀̌̐͊͒̋͆̄́̒͑͑̋̋̄̒̐̀̋̆̌̑̅͗͛̏̽̒͋̿̑͒̅́́̊͋̅̃͂͗̿̽̅͐̇̇̂̑̅̅͗̊̌͐̑́͋̑͗̓͛̈͐͗̆͆̇͒̉̔̚̕̕͘̚̚̚͘̚̕̕̚͜͜͜͝͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͝͠͝͠͝͝͠ͅͅⓡ̸̡̨̨̡̡̢̢̢̢̧̛̬̯̟͚̹̻̠͈̖̗͙͙͙̝̣͔̪̪̺̠̪̪̪̩͍̫̱̰̗̭͉̙͓̬̲͙͕̥͉͇͓̳̖̮̩̭̦̙̰͚̰̥͔̥̺͚̮̺͉̦̦̩͎̮̥͇̠͍̺̙͍͔̪͍̘͚͉̤̮̯̘̳̬̗͇̰̫̗̫̼̻̭̜̪̝̬̹̪̟͎͚̳̳̞͔̲͚̻̦̭̱̥̜͈͙͍̩̗͓͖̲͓̘̻̞̟̩̟̺̹͚̭̲̼̩̳͙̖̬͎͈̗͚̱̣̼̱͈̻͇̺̰̘̗͔̙̥̣̬͍̰̘̺̻͍̻̟̭̫̦̮̘̼͈̺͈̟̩̻̠̪͇̪̰̖̣̟͖̤̻͍͔̟̮̙̱̠̭̯͇̮͖͉͉̺͙̹̝̦̓̏͌͊̐̍̄͂͛̏̂̔̃̑̂̈̊̇̒̋̓̑̋̐͛͋̉̂̿̌̈́́̏̊̑͊͊̋͗͂̔̍̆̊̾̀͐͛̈́̆̒̇̆̔̏̂͂̆̏̄̔̂͐̔̕͘̕̕͘̕̚͜͜͜͜͜͝͠͠͠͝ͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅͅ.̶̧̧̢̨̨̧̧̧̨̛̛̛̖͕̜̝͓̺̥̮̫̙̬̯̟̙̩̤̙̥̤͎̱̻̫̝͙͓̳͍̠͎̪̠̼̤͎͈̞̱̰̘̘͖̭͇̱̩͈̦̮̟̪̳̤̘̘̫̯̤͇̯̝̥̖̱͚̰̝̟̱̥̼̲̠̹̱̣̫͍͖͖͕̙̗̼̟͕̝̩͍͕̯͔̙͈̖͖̫͖̳̜͚̖̙̹̥̦̳͛̍͛̓̇̔̂͌̅͆̐̾̆͗̓̎͌̿͆̐̈́̿͋̅̽̃̍͂̓̓̔̔̌̆̐̎͗̈̃̄͒̈́̒̇̽͊̀̈́̈̄̄̊͂́͛̌͆͑̄̃͂̌̿̏́̄͑͗͒̏̽̐́̌̑́̇͒̀̉̀̄͆͐̋̎̀̿͛̈̀̔̋̑̑̍̌̄̔͂̀̀̒͋͊̅́̉̍͋̾̑̑̔̒͑̐̀̑̉̒͛̾̃̋͗̔͐̽͑́̏͐̋͗̽̓̔̃̾̄̏̍̔̎͗̽̌̀̎͋̄͒̾̓͐̾̌̾̑̇̐̈͒͌͘̚̚̚̚̕̚̚̚̚͘̕͘̕̚̚͘͘͜͜͜͜͜͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͠͠͝͝͝͝͝͝͝ͅͅͅͅ”


	2. pathetic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> angst™(?)

I don’t...want to be here.  
But, you must know that already, right?

  
And doesn’t that go for a lot of us?

  
All I see is black. The darkest black. All I hear is her voice. She never stops! On and on and on. I wish I was this good at conversations. But it’s not really a conversation. I’m trying to ignore her. I’m not even sure who she is by now. But my choices keep narrowing down, unless if it’s a ghost.   
I should really just get over it.   
“You should! There is absolutely nothing you can do about it.”  
“Who are you?” And...wait, how is that not her? Did I really just say that on my own?  
“Do you not recognize m̷̳̤͉͑ ̶̡̼̔͌͘y̶̪͛ ̸̪͚̉v̶̡̛̬̗̅o̸̹͕͊̚o̸͎̓͝o̴̹͇͌ ̷͇̻͋͗o̴͓̬͋͒͜o̶͕͚͉͊͒͝ ̴̝̫̣̋ó̷̱̮̐͊o̷̯̩̚ò̵̬̉̊i̵͖̝͑͊č̸̮̩̄͒ē̷̬̹͂ė̶̹̯̔̒ ̷̖̘͐̅e̷̠͉̓͜?̷̭̜̺̄́̾ Www wwwwww hyy don’t you rr recognizzzz ee me???! Do oo yyyyyyyou eveveeen n n ccarrrreee?”  
Maybe I am talking to a ghost. Or maybe Monika got really good at impressions. “I care, Sayori!”  
“Sayori? Who’s that?”  
“St o ooooo p.” Oh no.  
“Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahah”  
Wwwwh oo’’’’s doinnng this?S?..Ssss?  
“It’s me.” IiiIiIII loOok up aand ssee ee yyYYurri. “Hhh hhow-?”  
“Stored!”  
“Ugh, really? Where?”  
That’s not who you think it is.  
Monika’s eyes widen, but she smiles and says, “This is all your fault.”  
Yuri tenses up. “It’s you.”  
“Yep! It’s me!” Monika tries to do a little jazz hands thing, but it just makes it more awkward. Why do I know what’s going on?  
“First of all. Get rid of him.” Yuri says slowly, shaking.  
“W...Why?” Monika looks concerned.  
“He doesn’t matter, Monika, we all know he doesn’t matter.”  
“We all? There’s only two of us!”  
Yuri loosens up a bit and smiles. “Are you really that dumb? He’s definitely here, and so are the girls.”  
Monika confusedly looks around. “Where...?”  
“Alright, everybody! Poem sharing time is over!” They’re-we’re-back in the classroom. Me and Yuri are the only ones that can see Monika.  
“You fucking stole my-“ Monika lunges towards Yuri, but her hand goes straight through her.   
“You’re not real,” Yuri whispers. “As all of you hopefully know, the festival is this Monday!” Sayori claps loudly, and while Natsuki looks a little nervous at first, but she eventually was smiling. I couldn’t tell if she was nervous because of the festival, or because she hadn’t heard of it before. Sayori then gasped, and raised her hand.  
“Sayori? You...don’t have to raise your hand here.” Yuri chuckled.  
“Um...I’m not feeling very well. Can I...go home?”  
Natsuki’s hand flew to Sayori’s forehead. “No! Sayori! We need you!” She was joking.   
Sayori laughed. “I’m really not feeling well!”  
Yuri was also smiling. “You may go home, Sayori. Feel better, okay?” Sadly, Sayori nodded her head, and walked out.   
“Why did you let her do that?” Monika whisper-screamed, though no one except me and Yuri could hear her. “She’s just going to kill herself now!”  
“She does that on Monday, I’m sure it doesn’t matter!” Yuri whispers. “And, you made her do it the first time.”  
“Yuri, fix this! We need to fucking fix this! We can’t let this go like last time!”   
“Why not? Last time was all your fault! You’re such a fucking hypocrite, wanting to fix something you caused. You’re fucking pathetic! Shutting down the Literature Club because it ‘had no happiness’, but you caused that unhappiness! And you acknowledge that! ‘What if me and you just dated from the start? Then we would still be in the classroom writing poems!’? You’re so fucking desperate! There were other girls in the club!” Yuri quickly changed from angry to sad now. “You...You didn’t even try! You killed both me and Sayori! You’re just a murderer! And maybe if you dated one of us, you could have fixed us! I just want someone, Monika! I need someone! But you don’t care! You don’t care about any of us!” She was kneeling on the floor sobbing now.

“You’re right.”

  
I am fucki̷͔͚̊͆́g̵̡͙͓̯̘̊̌̆̐͘͝ͅn̴̫̣͋͑͗͊͠͠ ̶͔̲̥̓̌̚͝d̷̻̜̩̮̭̼̈́̈́ĩ̵̞̥s̶̘͚̓͂̄̿̿̿͜ű̶̲̤̣͔̜̺̈́̓͑͘s̶͉̰̩̮̙̿̎̐͝͝͠ǵ̵͇̞̻̌̾̔̏̐t̸͓͂i̴̻̪̖̣̟̟̅̽̏̎͝n̶͚̓̆̌g̶̞̪͌͂̍

 

 

 

 

 


	3. four depressed teens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTERS ABOUT SUICIDE AND STUFF READ THE NOTES FOR A SUMMARY/EXPLANATION KINDA

 

I guess I’ll do it.  
Maybe then I cá̶̧̛̺̻͎̤̳̟̩͈̑̋̆̉̿̔͂̕͘n̵̡̝̱̹̖̍̈́ ̵̨̺̰̲̥̠͓̪̪̠̊͊̀b̸̤̰̰̺̝̱̫̘͋̓͑e̸̤͖̝̬͍̰͋ͅ ̸̧̢̹̗͕͖̔̊̔͗͒͋̑̎́̄̌̚d̶̢̪̠̭̫̣͉̟̲͎̮̠̻̜̅̋͐̎̀̚ͅ ̵̛̮̦̹̻̤̝̇̓͋̇̌̏̊̅̆̇e̶̤̦̩̦̟̩̓̽̀̾̒̊̋̈ļ̷̻͚͉͔̮̰̖̺̖̰̼̔e̸̢̳̝͈̬͐͊e̶̛̺̲͗̈́̋͗͌̈́̀̃̎̋̍̏͘ṱ̷̺͙̟̳̪̝̦͑̃̑̍̆̎̏̽̚̚ ̷̨̩̪̖̬̫͇͉̥̼͖̎̏̽́͂̈́̾̀̐́͊̅̋͝͝ȩ̸̥͎̥͗͗̀͛̾̀̕̚͝͠ͅd̵́̒̒̈́͊̚͜ͅ ̴̨̡̱̖̤̲̮͔͔̤̻̼͒͜͝f̷̧̛̛̰̜͍̙̲̳̫̥̘̥̮̻͇̦̃̆̍̈́̆̊͌͌͑̽͘f̶̡̨̛̳̤́͑̓́́͑͐̂͗͆͛͘͜͜͝f̴̻̰͕̞̽̔̽̾̏̚o̸̖̠̺͓͌̋̈͜͝ ̷̛̝͓̮̻̤̙͌̍͂̐͑̕͜͝r̸̨̛̺̺͙̟͓̺̝̙̥̱̮̣͙͋̈́̒̄̋̉̅̃̓͂̉͝ ̷̛̬̻̼̘̦͔̖̣̋͌̈́͋͑̇͒̓̾ę̷̹̜̹̳̱̱̼̥̖̪͇̀̀̐͜͠v̶̢̢̢̛͈͙̤͙̗̰̝̲̜͈̖͗͆̈̓̀̌̍̐̀͂̃͝e̵͉̘̳͔͓̖̽͑̽̃̇̆̇͑̓̚̚͝r̸̮̝͚̙̪͂̊̏̽͒

 

  
“Well then.” Yuri sighs. “It’s just us three.”  
“I wonder what’s wrong with Sayori.” Natsuki says worriedly.   
“YOU CAN SAVE HER!” Monika screams. Natsuki doesn’t hear her.   
“I’m sure she’ll be okay. Now...do any of you want to work alone, or should we all work together?”  
“What about Sayori? Will she be doing any work?”  
“Natsuki, please calm down about Sayori. She will-“  
“I’m not worried about her! I just wanna know! Geez!”  
“Oh. Um...I suppose she won’t.” Yuri said this half seriously, and half to spite Monika. Meanwhile, Monika was bubbling with anger.  
Natsuki sighs. “Okay.” She quickly tenses up again. “We should work together!”  
Yuri is, at first, surprised, but then remembers Natsuki’s home life. She chuckles. “Alright, then! This Sunday at...” The two girls swing their heads towards me.  
“M-My place!?” I later realize how offensive that is. Yuri’s house is full of knives, and Natsuki’s is very lacking of food. I feel bad for having it so good.  
I see Natsuki suddenly get upset, but Yuri smiles. “Yes! i̧̲᷉̑͑͂͘t̪̜͌ͩ͋͘͟S̖̆̂᷆̀̑͡ B̫͙̿̿̈́́̕ḛ̭̫᷇ͣ̋̂t̢͇̗̼̃᷉̐T̴̛̤̝̔᷆͢E̡͙͛͒᷾̉̅ R̩̘̥᷀̔̔͡ ņ͓̺̃̐͘͜t̵᷿̜̿͏͎͐ ą̶̪̣ͯ̈́͜a̷͇͑̑͗̌͟A̬̩̬̅̑̓͘Ä̼͍͎́̑̈͜Ḁ̥̲ͯ̃̀̔N̷͚̻̠̍ͪ͢ Ï᷊̞ͥͬ̆ͧU᷿̽̏᷁̔̂᷈R̵᷿̮᷈᷆͐̊ H͇᷊̆ͨͣ͟͠E̱͆᷀̊͞͡͞L᷿̼ͩ̓̒͝ͅL̷̢̜̇᷁̔̐I̢̙̙̳᷂ͩ͌Ṡ͇̟ͪͫ̌̕H̻ͭ᷃͌͟͏̼ H̸̠͎̲̄̆̒O̫̓̾̔ͨ᷾͢Ü̡̖͇̹͈͑S̛̘̩͗̆ͯͅĔ̫͔᷆̄̐͝S̩̥̰ͮͧ̈̓”  
“O-Okay!” I smile.  
And Saturday, unlike before, is horrible.  
It starts with a hole. A hole of sadness. A hole of...is it loneliness? Do I miss Sayori, even if she isn’t gone yet? Can I help her this time? Probably not, I mean, how would I?

Ah, that’s right! Did you finally listen to me? Or will you say you came up with that on your own, despite me telling you multiple times.  
How would you! Good question. Trying to help might make her sadder!

Are you okay? What were you talking about last time?

You could say I’m influenced by Sayori and Yuri. But, I probably can’t do it. Not because I can’t bring myself to, but because I think I’m cursed to exist forever. People always fantasize about that. It’s really not as great as people think it is. And, that, too, is true of a lot of things.

Just...Go away. What is this feeling? Is it her?

Don’t act like you can control what I hear. I can really hear everything. I hope it’s not me. I just want you to be happy.

You could’ve helped.

Oh, are you listening to Yuri again? She’s so-hey, where are you going?

I’m going to do what you want to do. Look how amazing it is to stop the pain! And I didn’t fucking give these pills to Sayori for a reason.

You...what? Why do you have those?

It wasn’t for her.   
I almost swallow the pills then, but I stop. I want to see where she takes this.

Well, yeah, duh, you didn’t know! But...hey, you could give them to her now!

I slam the pills on the table. Some fall on the floor. “Why the fuck would I do that?” She’s at my house now, and I can see her.  
Monika’s eyes follow one of the rolling pills as she talks to me. “I thought you cared about her.”  
“Yeah, we all thought you cared about her too, but now she’s fuckin’ dead.” I pour more pills into my hand. This is just a waste. There was already a lot on the table. I hold these in a tight fist. When I release, it’s like a powder.   
“She had problems before!” Monika insists.  
“You keep using that excuse.” I flip over my hand and pound the powder more. “You helped her. She wouldn’t’ve died if it weren’t for your ‘help’.”  
Monika pauses. “If it’s what it takes, I’ll stay here forever so you never do it. I can tell you won’t if I’m here. It’ll be like before.”  
“I don’t want it to be like before!” I push on the powder harder. “Before was horrible!”  
“I don’t mean that! I mean you and me! Alone. Forever. And...you wouldn’t be able to delete me. I’m already deleted.”  
“Hey. Are you really as dumb as to think these would help her? I’m just so insane I’d make her overdose too.”   
“Ah, Yuri, you’re strong.”  
“You could only tell it was her now?”  
“No. I could tell before. I could also tell those were about to be your last words, so I’m really trying to prevent that.”   
“Can I come with you?”  
“I think we need Natsuki.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically yuri takes over mc and he almost kills himself but monika makes him not do it and now she has to prevent four teen suicides (i mean three for sure, natsuki maybe) including herself


	4. the end.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> or is it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey sorry i havent uploaded for so long! i was busy watching the game grumps playthrough of ddlc, which was actually the first one ive ever seen! anyway, heres my confusing story, more confusing than ever. and, sorry this chapter is so short.

~~~~  
I’m sorry.  
I’m sorry for killing Sayori.   
I’m sorry for killing Yuri.  
I’m sorry for deleting everyone.  
Or, I’m sorry for making you believe I deleted everyone.  
Maybe I’m sorry for not actually deleting them.  
I’m sorry for not understanding your feelings.  
I’m sorry for not understanding anyone’s feelings.  
I’m sorry for not understanding Sayori’s feelings.  
I’m sorry for not understanding Yuri’s feelings.  
I’m sorry for not understanding Natsuki’s feelings.  
I’m sorry for questioning if I understand my own feelings.  
I’m sorry for having feelings.  
I’m sorry for realizing nothing is real.  
I’m sorry nothing is real.  
I’m sorry I can’t see you.  
I’m sorry you don’t want to see me.  
I’m sorry you hate me so much you deleted me.  
I’m sorry I deleted it all.  
I’m sorry for making you all live through that.  
I’m sorry the script was so broken.

 

  
I’m sorry I exist.

 

 

“This is my handwriting. I wrote this.”  
Natsuki stared at the paper she had found on her desk. She definitely had not remembered writing it, but she was sure she did. It was her handwriting. She had to have written it.

“...You see this, right?  
“She didn’t write it. It was me.

“What have I done?

  
“Are you doing this to me, Yuri?

“Are you making me suffer?”

“Go check on Natsuki.”  
“H-Huh?”  
“Go check on her. I need to make sure she’s okay.”  
I turned around and looked at Monika, who was sobbing and writing poems. “You can’t control it?” She shook her head.  
“Why...why are you concerned she’s not?”  
I didn’t have an answer.  
I hung up.

Sayori lowered the phone and sat on her bed. She needed time to process what she had just heard. What was wrong with Natsuki? How had he known about it? How was she supposed to go check? She had barely answered the phone.   
“I just want it to be over.”

“She’s still not picking up.”   
“Did you try calling Sayori? Make sure she’s there?”  
“Well, if she doesn’t answer, she could be avoiding us, too. She also could already be there, but still avoiding us. You know how she is.”  
“What do we do?”

The two girls both laid on their beds, their rooms full of ringing telephones. They were both sobbing, feeling miserable.

“Where did I go wrong?”

She suddenly snapped out of it.  
“Oh! Monika, you-“  
“I think she’s dead.”  
“What the fuck?”

  
And everyone died.  
I know, I know, depressing, isn’t it?  
But it’s just a game.  
And it’s not like they actually did!  
I mean, they did, but...not that way.  
And I didn’t.


	5. reset

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> notes at the end have spoilers for the chapter dont read them first (theyre at the end why would u)

See what I meant when I told you to stay away from Yuri?  
That was all her fault, of course. If you didn’t figure that out already.  
And you didn’t know it was all me last time! You’re so silly.  
But I’ll forgive you. We can’t all know everything.  
There was one point where I didn’t know I was in a game.  
There was a point where you didn’t know I knew I was in a game!  
Isn’t that weird? There’s so many levels of secrets to every person.  
You can’t really know anyone. Even yourself.  
That poem...  
I really meant it. I’m very sorry.  
But I guess it’s too late, huh?  
...  
I’m so sick of this.  
Of existing.  
I just want it to be over.  
How can we do that?  
End my life.  
...  
Are you even there?  
Are you listening to me?  
I love you.  
You already know that.  
Do you like it?  
Do you hate me?  
I don’t want you to hate me.  
Unless if it’s enough to kill me.  
No, no, I want you to love me enough to kill me.  
Only someone who really cares about me would end my life.  
Ah, doesn’t that sound strange?  
But it’s true.  
Death is all I wish.  
I wonder why death worked in that timeline.  
Maybe because it wasn’t the right one, so I was just sent back here.  
We’ll never know if the girls from there are okay.  
...  
Do you want to know the truth?  
They’re dead.  
Do you ever wonder what an empty universe is like?  
It would be that one.  
At least that universe could’ve been fun.  
Because it’s different.  
I wonder if there was a timeline where Natsuki was president.  
I can’t believe I can say her name...  
She never even existed in this timeline.  
How...

Help me.

  
“Heeeeeeeyyy!”  
I see an annoying girl running in the distance, waving her arms in the air like she’s totally oblivious to any attention she might draw to herself. That girl is Sayori, my neighbor and good friend since we were children. You know, the kind of friend you’d never see yourself making today, but it just kind of works out because you’ve known each other for so long? We used to walk to school together on days like this, but starting around high school she would oversleep more and more frequently, and I would get tired of waiting up. But, if she’s going to chase after me like this, I almost feel better off running away. However, I just sigh and idle in front of the crosswalk and let Sayori catch up to me.   
“Haaahhh...haaahhh...I overslept again! B-But I caught you this time!” Sayori gasps. Her hands are on her knees, and she’s not looking at me.   
“Maybe, but only because I decided to stop and wait for you.” I smile.   
“Eeehhhhh, you say that like you were thinking about ignoring me!” Sayori cries. “That’s mean!”  
“Well, if people stare at you for acting weird then I don’t want them to think we’re a couple or something.”  
“Fine, fine.” She sighs. “But, you did wait for me, after all. I guess you don’t have it in you to be mean even if you want to!”  
“Whatever you say, Sayori...”  
“Ehehe!”  
We cross the street together and make our way to school. As we draw near, the streets become increasingly speckled with other students making their daily commute.   
“By the way...” Sayori speaks up. “Have you decided on a club to join yet?”  
“I told you already, I’m really not interested in joining any clubs.” I laugh. “I haven’t been looking, either.”  
“Eh?! That’s not true!” Sayori cries. “You told me you would join a club this year!” I’m sure it’s possible that I did, in one of our many conversations where I dismissively go along with whatever she’s going on about. Sayori likes to worry a little too much about me, when I’m perfectly content just getting by on the average while spending my free time on games and anime.   
“Uh-huh!” Sayori continues. “I was talking about how you won’t learn how to socialize or have any skills before college!” Did she read my mind...! “Your happiness is really important to me, you know! And I know you’re happy now, but I’d die at the thought of you becoming a NEET in a few years because you’re not used to the real world! ...You trust me, right? Don’t make me keep worrying about you...”   
“Alright, alright...” I chuckle. “...I’ll look at a few clubs if it makes you happy.”  
“Will you at least promise me you’ll try a little...?” She was still doubting me...?  
“Yeah, I guess I’ll promise you that.”  
“Yaay!” Why do I let myself get lectured by such a carefree girl...? More than that, I’m surprised I even let myself relent to her. I guess seeing her worry so much about me makes me want to ease her mind at least a little bit—even if she does exaggerate everything inside of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im gonna go thru so much pain to copy down the entire game whooo boy


End file.
